Bohemia: A Year Later
by VivaLaVieBoheme
Summary: RENT fanfiction, takes place a year after our show ends. Mimi is no more, Roger is angsty, nothing else new, right? Wrong.
1. Prologue

A/N: As you will see, I've taken some liberties in the writing of my story, but for the most part, I am attempting to remain true to the characters that we all know and love. Reviews are loverly, and will definitely encourage me to write new chapters.  
  
It's been a year since we last encountered the Bohemians of Alphabet City, and their lives have continued to spin. Both out of and into control, if that makes much sense.  
  
Maureen and Joanne are still together, barely. And their relationship continues to be a dramatic one. Mainly due to Maureen and her wandering eyes, hands, lips and everything else. But they don't mind the fighting so much anymore, because the making up is so much fun.  
  
Collins has left NYU to head west and teach at Stanford. They've only been slightly more receptive to his theory of actual reality than MIT and NYU were. But he's happy. No longer the therapist for the Bohos, he's delved into his own mind, and come to peace with many things, like his parents throwing him out and Angel's death.  
  
Mark... well, continues to be Mark. His camera is constantly with him, though rarely on. He doesn't have the money to pay for all the film that it would use to have it continuously running. He still holds the role of the peacemaker, although, Roger has been getting the best of him lately.  
  
And of course, Roger and Mimi, the couple everyone loves. Well, for a short period of time. They lived happily ever after... for a while. And then, despite Roger's help, Mimi fell back into her old habits. One night, very much like how he'd lost April, Roger came home from a show he'd been playing, and found Mimi in the bathroom, skin cold and a needle hanging from her arm.  
  
Since then, it has almost gone full circle back to the time before Mimi joined their group. Roger rarely goes out, Mark tries to get him to go out. The only difference is that Benny isn't charging them rent and hasn't cut their power... yet. 


	2. Or the Absolut gets it

A/N: Please review... this is my first fiction. Well, first RENT fic.  
  
December 24 9 P.M. The Loft  
  
"December 24. 9 P.M., Eastern Standard Time." Muttered Mark, beginning the Christmas Eve tradition of the Boho boys. Eye glued to the viewfinder, he clumsily began to weave his way through the loft. Stumbling over the thick extension cord that snaked its way through the loft, Mark grumbled. "Shit." He muttered, aiming the camera at the offending object.  
  
Raising his fist, Mark banged on Roger's door. "Get up Rog. Christmas Eve. Maureen and Joanne'll be here soon." He yelled, knowing perfectly well that this would quickly develop into a fight. Bam! Bam! His fist met the door two more times.  
  
Settling back on the table that stood at the middle of the room, Mark aimed his camera at Roger's door. "December 24. 9-"He paused to check the watch around his wrist. "05 P.M., Eastern Standard Time. And here we sit. Still trying to record life. Instead, I, Mark Cohen, am recording still life. Roger's door."  
  
"Mark!" Roger barked, his voice carrying through the locked door that separated his room from the rest of the building. "Shut the hell up." The sound of a guitar quietly slipped through the divider. Out of tune.  
  
"Not until you..." Mark's voice trailed off as there was knocking at the door of their loft. Odd. None of their friends ever knocked. Hell, Benny didn't even knock. Turning the camera to face him, he looked into the lens and spoke. "There's a mysterious knocking at the door, and due to the fact that Roger has become an antisocial hermit, I'm going to answer it. Just like the phone."  
  
When Mark pulled open the heavy steel door, his questions still weren't exactly answered. Whoever it was had a giant stack of newspapers in her arms, topped with a case of wood, and cloth grocery bags hanging from her arms. Mrs. Claus perhaps. "Uh... Hello?" He said, more of a question than a greeting, but oh well. Pulling some of the papers and wood into his own arms, he stared down at the girl standing in front of him. A pair of emerald optics met his warm hazel gaze.  
  
Brushing past him the girl stepped into the loft and dropped her bundles onto the floor. Pulling a black cap from her head, she shook her head, blonde tresses whipping out around her. She was small. Tiny really, with long wavy blonde hair and big green eyes. The only clue to her identity was the fact that she looked like she'd dressed from Maureen's closet. Tight jeans, tight top, but somehow a softer look than when Maureen wore them. Yes, she was Maureen's little sister. In more ways that one. Her name? Dakota Johnson. Something that Maureen was always jealous of. That she had such a basic name and that her little sister had such a unique, memorable name. At one point, Maureen had even tried to convince Dakota to switch names.  
  
Tugging at the hem of the crimson sweater he wore, Mark looked confused. Not raising his eyes to meet his visitor's, he cleared his throat. "Um... not to be rude. But who are you?" He asked, nervously.  
  
Laughing Dakota picked up the bags of food from the ground and dumped them onto the counter. Taking the items out, she placed them one by one on the counter. "I can't believe that you could forget me Mark. I thought you had a better memory than that." She responded, not giving him her name still. "In fact, I bet Roger can remember me." Leaving the groceries half unpacked, she ran across the loft. Banging on the door, she shook her head. "Still a recluse?" She asked, looking at Mark.  
  
"Go to hell Mark!" Roger yelled, tone sharing just how annoyed he was at the moment. When the banging didn't stop he strode across the room, and opened the door a crack. Sticking his arm out, he swatted the body closest to the door. And connected with... well, something that Mark didn't have as far as he could remember.  
  
Shrinking back into his room, Roger sighed. If there was one thing he didn't want to deal with on Christmas Eve, it was women. Or a woman, whatever the situation may be.  
  
"I told you it wasn't me!" Mark yelled, voice sing-songy.  
  
"Crikey!" Dakota exclaimed, grabbing her chest. Banging on the door again she pouted. "Now you have to come out Roger! You owe me for bodily harm!" She yelled, hand beginning to grow sore from the banging.  
  
Sighing, Roger stuck his head out the door. "Dakota?" He asked, surprised. Last they'd heard Dakota was off in Boston at Emerson, being taught how to do something she loved. Perform. In a different sense than Maureen. Dakota could act, and sing... and dance. She became a character. She wasn't the character, like Maureen.  
  
Blinking, Mark looked from Roger to Dakota confused. And then it clicked. "OH! Dakota! Maureen's little sister!" He exclaimed, picking up his camera again. "Mystery guest... unmystery-ized."  
  
Rolling his eyes Roger disappeared back into his room.  
  
Snorting Dakota rolled her eyes. "I'm 20, Mark. And I'm not so little." She purred, batting her lashes at Mark. Heels clicking as she crossed the room, she surveyed the groceries in front of her. "Let me answer your questions before you ask. I got in today. I'm staying with Mo and Jo. They're fighting. I don't know when they'll be here. I raided their apartment and now I'm making you Christmas Eve dinner. Mo said that he won't eat." She said all in one breath in her throaty voice. Her last statement was accompanied with a nod in the general direction of Roger's room.  
  
Blinking Mark set his camera down and rubbed his hands together. "It isn't that he won't... he just doesn't. If I can get the food in front of it he eats like he hasn't had food in a month. But he won't do it on his own." Sighing he took off his glasses. Sitting down at one of the stools that stood against the countertop, he yawned and rested his elbows on the counter and leaned forwards, running his fingers through his hair. "It's almost like he's trying to die... passively." He said his voice rising with full knowledge that if nothing else, it would lure Roger out of his room.  
  
And it did. Roger bolted out of his room, face red and eyes blazing. He was angry enough to hit Mark. A white-hot rage bubbled inside of him, sick and tired of Mark and his patronizing ways. If he didn't feel like eating, then it was his own damn business. "Damnit Mark! Mind your own damn business. I'm so sick and tired of you and your goodie two shoes business." He yelled at his roommate's back.  
  
Grabbing a bottle of Absolut off the counter top, Dakota held it in the air, ready to drop it. "Chill the hell out Rog. Or the vodka drops. And I will you two. Stop fighting or else." Seeing that she'd caught their attention from the way they'd both frozen, staring at her and the bottle. She laughed. "Go make nice for a bit. I'll cook you something. And it's doubtful that we'll be seeing Maureen or Joanne tonight, they're fighting. And then they'll be making up." She said, thrusting her hips. Setting the bottle back down, she tucked her hair behind her ears. "Benny coming?" She asked.  
  
Both males stared at her, relatively stunned. This was going to be an interesting holiday season. 


	3. Sizzling

A/N: Come on loves! Please review! Fawning is muchly appreciated, as well as constructive criticism. But keep it constructive, no flaming.  
  
December 24 10 PM Joanne's Apartment  
  
Sniffing a carton of Orange Juice, Maureen wrinkled her nose. Swirling the beverage in the container, she raised the box to her lips and took several thirsty gulps.  
  
"Maureen!" Joanne exclaimed, catching her girlfriend red handed. Her pet peeve, and Maureen's favorite activity, drinking from the container.  
  
Maureen swiped her hand across her lips, closed the carton and shrugged her shoulders. Fixing the sleeve of the oversized t-shirt she wore, her bare feet padded across the kitchen floor. Wrapping her arms around Joanne's waist, she smiled and fluttered her lashes. "I know you hate it, Pookie, but I just can't help myself." She purred, rubbing her body against her lover's.  
  
"Maureen! Not here... Dakota could walk in at any minute!" Joanne cried, laughing. Putting her hands on Maureen's shoulders, she disengaged herself from the petite girl's grasp.  
  
Crossing to the cabinet she pulled a misshapen clay mug from the shelf. Another of Maureen's misguided ventures. Turning the tap on, she let it run for a moment before filling the mug. Sipping the water, she looked around the small apartment. "Where is your sister anyways?" She asked, brows furrowed.  
  
Maureen shrugged her shoulders and leaned against the countertop. Spying a yellow post-it-not on the refrigerator, she strode over and pulled it off. Staring at the note for a minute, she shook her head and heaved a frustrated sigh. "Russian. Read it, Pookie."  
  
"It's been years since I studied Russian, Mo." Sighing resignedly, she stuck her hand out to allow Maureen to attach the note to her hand. Reading the note she shrugged her shoulders. "Something to the effect of she's doing Mark and Roger. And we shouldn't wait up!" Joanne said, voice climbing incredulously as she spoke. Shaking her head, she squinted and laughed. "Oh, sorry. She's going TO Mark and Roger's." Joanne said, laughing at the horrified look on Maureen's face.  
  
Recovering from the thought that her little sister was planning on having sex with her ex-boyfriend, not to mention with their HIV+ best friend, Maureen grinned. "Well, Honey, if she's there, then she isn't here!" She purred, springing upon Joanne and pressing their lips together in a passionate kiss.  
  
Laughing softly as she returned Maureen's kiss, Joanne took her hand and led her back into the bedroom.  
  
10:30 PM The Loft  
  
Standing on her tiptoes, Dakota stared into the empty cabinet. Well, nearly empty. It contained a metal bowl, a handful of dishes, one frying pan, one sauce pan, and several hot plates. Sighing she pulled them one by one out. "Are you telling me that this is all you have?" She asked, glancing at where Roger and Mark sat on the tattered couch, a game of chess between them.  
  
"What you see is what you get." Roger replied, studying the board before moving a piece. "Check." He muttered, rubbing his eyes.  
  
Mark stared intently at the board. Sighing he nodded his head. "Yep. That means that you owe me 5 less... Making it..." His voice trailed off as he did the math in his head. "A Hundred and Twenty-Three Dollars and 16 cents."  
  
"Where'd the 16 cents come from?" Roger asked, moving the chessboard off the couch. Standing up, he shook his head at the screech that the springs let out.  
  
"Last week I took a nap, and I had 16 cents in my pocket. When I woke up it wasn't there. But I had to meet Maureen, so I left. And then when I came back it wasn't in the couch. Through deductive reasoning I decided you took it." Mark explained, standing and crossing to where Dakota was chopping an onion. "Need any help?" He asked, reaching his hand out to snatch a piece before popping it into his mouth.  
  
"I need dishes. And now it makes sense why my sister broke up with you. You'll scare all the girls away if you keep eating raw onion like that." Sweeping the onion onto a plate, she set it aside and went into the refrigerator and pulled out a paper wrapped package. Waving it she grinned. "Even if you don't eat the stuff, Christmas Eve means one thing... Filet!" She announced, setting the package on the counter top. Digging through the drawers, she found a few packages of pepper from a fast food joint. Wripping them open she sprinkled it on top of the steaks.  
  
Grabbing the electrical cord, Roger removed some of the unnecessary connections and brought the cable over to the counter. Silently he began plugging a few of the hot plates in. "Mark, does your mother ever give you anything else?" He asked, looking at the ingredients scattered on the counter. His stomach growled.  
  
Turning the hot plate on, Dakota swirled olive oil into the bottom of the pan and dropped in garlic that she'd chopped. Waiting for the plate to heat she looked through the rest of the groceries. "Do you boys have tinfoil?" She asked, pulling out a few potatoes. Turning the water on she rinsed them underneath it, wrinkling her nose as the dirt trickled off.  
  
"In my room." Mark said, heading towards his sleeping quarters to retrieve it. Disappearing into the room, he whistled softly, unaware of the looks that his friends were giving him.  
  
Roger held his hands up. "Don't ask me. I don't even begin to understand how his mind works."  
  
Placing the frying pan on the hot plate, Dakota placed the filets into the pan. A soft crackling sound was emitted as the meat hit the sultry pan. Pushing them gently with a fork, she moved them about to keep them from burning. Laughing as Roger's stomach growled again, she shook her head. "So, are you going to eat? Or just wither away slowly?"  
  
Roger glared at Dakota. It was none of her business. And he said so, quite bluntly. "Why the hell do you care? You don't know what it's like. And you never will."  
  
Cocking an eyebrow at Roger she shrugged. Handing him the fork, she shrugged her shoulders. "Watch them." She muttered as she wiped her hands on her jeans and headed for the door. Sliding it open she stepped outside and climbed the stairs to the roof. Softly she spoke to herself. "Oh I do. More than you know."  
  
Coming out of his room with the tinfoil, Mark stopped in the middle of the room. Box in one hand, he looked from Roger, to the fork, to the door sliding closed. "Roger! What'd you do?" He asked, voice slightly whiny.  
  
"Shut up Mark." Roger replied, dropping the fork on the countertop and turning towards his room. Slamming the door behind him as he entered, the faint click of the lock was audible as Roger once again locked everyone out of his world. 


	4. Betrayed by Tears

A/N: ***hugs Andromeda*** Thank you love! I'm glad that you're enjoying it, and I hope that everyone else reading (read: I hope other people are reading) is enjoying as well. And I'll give you that sledgehammer, so feel free to use it… Nicely of course. ***Hands over her sledgehammer***

December 24

11:30 PM

The Roof

            Shivering in the cold breeze, Dakota stood on the roof of the building, staring uptown at the bright glow that was Times Square. Broadway. Her dream. Sighing wistfully, she turned away and shook her head. 

            Pacing back and forth, she crossed her arms across her chest and tucked her hair behind her ears, trying to save it from the wind that howled angrily. Finally ending up on the opposite end of the building, she sat down Indian style on the roof, staring down at the construction site below. 

            Yes, sadly enough, Benny had begun Cyber Arts Studios, although it was moving much slower than he'd have liked it to, after a year, they were still working on construction, and the steel skeleton was barely completed.

            Not hearing the protesting shriek of the door opening, she continued to stare at the spot where CAS would stand someday. It wasn't until Mark was standing directly behind her, hand on her shoulder and looking down upon her with a concerned look on his face that she realized that he was there. And when she did, she jumped up from the position she was in and shook her head. "Who's watching the steaks?" She asked, hurrying towards the door.

            "No one. But I turned the plate off." Mark replied, catching up to her in two steps, his lanky form carrying him swiftly to her side. Grabbing her arm, he halted her flight. Unwinding his scarf with his other hand, he draped it around her neck. Biting his lip, he paused, at a loss for words. "Are you… okay? I mean, whatever happened, you've got to know that he didn't mean it. He's just been testy lately. I mean, April, and then Mimi. He just can't handle things now…" Mark babbled, trying vainly to fill the silence as the wind stung at his cheeks.

            Dakota laughed, not the laugh of happiness or of glee, but the tired, bitter sound that shouldn't come from a girl so young. "Mark, it isn't always about Roger." She replied, burying her chin into the scarf she now wore. It provided only a little heat, but it was enough for her to be thankful for.

            "Oh." He replied lamely. Peering at her face, he paused; confused by the two streaks of shimmering light that ran down her cheeks. "Were you…" His voice trailed off, unsure of what to say, "Were you crying?" He asked, voice soft and brow tensed.

            Swiping at the cheeks that she hadn't even realized were damp until that moment, Dakota shrugged. Silently cursing the salty trails that had betrayed her, she laughed half-heartedly. "Don't worry Marky." She whispered, reaching up to softly smooth his tense forehead. "You'll get wrinkles if you keep carrying all your worries there." She said before removing his hand from her arm and then leaving the roof.

            'What the hell?' Mark thought to himself watching Dakota leave. Buttoning his coat, he stared into the sky, searching for at least one star. When he saw none, he shook his head, disappointed, and followed Dakota inside.

A/N: Dun Dun Dun…


End file.
